


The Taste of Lightning

by minorvariation



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, F/M, Missing Scene, Shadow of Revan, Theron's abandonment issues, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 05:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19996843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minorvariation/pseuds/minorvariation
Summary: Theron's made a career out of walking on thin ice, but even for him, he's pretty sure this is pushing it. A missing scene from Yavin 4, from a prompt on tumblr: "the smell of ozone during a storm."





	The Taste of Lightning

“Tell me you’re not thinking of going back out there,” Theron said.

Lightning forked through the sky of Yavin 4, punctuating his words with timing he couldn’t have paid for. The flash of it lit the guilty embarrassment that crossed Maia's face as she glanced toward him, before she raised her eyebrows and did her best to school her expression into one of surprise. 

Damn but the woman was easy to read.

“Of course I’m not.” The crack of a thunderclap almost drowned out her entirely predictable reply. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Theron cocked a dubious eyebrow. Sure, she’d shed her sodden and filthy outer robe, tugged off her muddy boots to wring the squelch out of her socks, and generally done a good impression of settling in to wait out the storm under the dubious shelter of the Republic backup comms tent. But he wasn’t a trained observer of people for nothing. He hadn’t missed the way her attention kept straying outward through the sheeting rain, past the encampment toward the jungle, as though fixing her eyes on some objective a long way off.

Right now those eyes held his, wide and impossibly blue, a transparent attempt to convince him of her sincerity with eye contact alone. If he’d never met her before, it might have actually worked. As it was, Theron didn’t even have to say anything - he just waited, watching her expectantly, until she finally looked away with a lopsided smile.

 _Busted_.

“All right,” Maia conceded, “maybe a little. But only thinking. I’m not foolhardy enough to try actually going out in--” she waved a hand toward the open mouth of the tent, “--that.” 

Outside, rain hammered down on the Coalition base camp in curtains of water, muffling all sound beneath its white noise and making visibility at any distance more like a wish. The jungle beyond the camp was barely a suggestion of shapes through the haze.

Another strobe of lightning turned it all black and silver for a fraction of a second. “Good,” said Theron, absently starting a silent count. “It’d look pretty bad for the rest of us if we lost the star of the Jedi Order in the jungle. Again.”

Maia lifted her chin, mouth opening to retort only to close again as thunder boomed with the force of a detonation. Closer this time, Theron judged - the worst of the storm had yet to hit them. By the time the reverberations faded, she’d tucked the flash of indignation away. 

“I made it back fine, didn’t I? Scourge and I just lost track of each other in the scuffle. It could happen to anyone.”

“Hmm.” It was probably some kind of character flaw that made him want to poke at that thin veneer of Jedi composure, to see the woman underneath show her face again. “‘Navigation sense of a blind mooka.’ I think that’s how Kimble put it.”

A flush of pink colored her cheeks. “Doc talks too much.”

Theron chose not to mention the rest of what Kimble had said after Scourge came out of the jungle without her, or how close he’d come to punching her medic in the face before Satele had arrived to lay down the law. He suspected Maia wouldn’t take his side, and that was a discussion he really didn’t feel like having with her right now. Or in general, to be honest.

The rational part of him knew he wasn’t being entirely fair. From Korriban to Rishi he’d heard Kimble lapse into alarmed swearing over the comms - a sure signal that Maia had _yet again_ launched herself into danger without waiting for her backup - too many times to doubt how much the other man cared about keeping her in one piece. Theron still half wanted to punch the guy. The idea of listening to Maia patiently tell him that Doc was right, she could take care of herself and sending out a search party with a storm looming dark on the horizon would only have risked making more victims in need of rescue, prickled under his skin like an itch he couldn’t reach.

So Theron kept his mouth shut and let the drumming of rain on the tent’s durasilk canopy fill the silence. 

Silence didn’t seem to bother Maia; she wore it comfortably, never compelled to talk just to fill the void. Pretending to occupy himself with studying a readout on his datapad, Theron watched her sidelong as she undid the band holding her hair and shook it out of its half-collapsed knot. The rain-wet mass of it spilled down her back, dark and heavy and longer than he'd expected. With a strange little jolt, he realized he’d never seen her with it down before.

Why it should even matter, he had no idea, but suddenly the space inside the tent felt very close. The driving rain rendered the rest of the camp hushed and distant, creating an illusion of privacy - as though it were only the two of them on the whole jungle moon. As Maia worked at combing her hair into some kind of order with her fingers, Theron caught himself holding his breath.

 _She’s a_ Jedi, he told himself _. Get a grip already._

Not that she looked like much of a Jedi at the moment, perched on the edge of an equipment trunk with her feet bare and straggling wisps of damp hair sticking to her face. The picture she made couldn’t have been further from the figure that strode out of the jungle in the midst of the downpour, covered in mud and worse than mud, her head held high. With steam hissing off her lightsabers and refracting the blades’ glow around her in a corona of blue and violet, she’d looked more mythical than real - like something sprung fully-formed from the point where lightning struck the ground, bright enough to burn anyone who dared come too close. 

Which was way too fanciful a thought for Theron Shan, and hard to reconcile with the very real flesh and blood of the woman who was currently biting her lip as she tried to worry loose a stubborn tangle with her fingertips. And just how she could be this much of a mystery when everything she felt showed on her face for the world to read, Theron wasn't sure. 

He never had been able to resist a mystery.

Maia finished bundling her hair up at the nape of her neck and secured the band back in place. From the way her shoulders dropped, he thought she might have sighed, but the sound of it was lost under the rainfall.

“To be honest…” She spoke softly, getting to her feet. “I’m not very good at waiting.” 

He put aside the datapad he hadn’t been looking at as she padded across the tent and came up alongside him. “We’re on Revan’s timetable,” she said, once more gazing out through the rain towards the jungle. “I just… can’t help feeling like I should be doing something.”

The storm wind blew spatters of rain in through the open tent flap. Maia curled her arms around herself against the chill in the wet air; this time, Theron could hear the breath chuff out of her in a self-deprecating little laugh. 

“Impatience is a bad quality for a Jedi.” She looked toward him with a hint of a smile playing over her mouth, eyes bright with the conspiratorial amusement of one sharing a private, secret joke. “I probably shouldn’t admit to it out loud.”

If either of them shifted even a little to the side, their arms would brush. The air felt charged, tingling against his skin, as though the slightest contact would send a spark jolting between them. Theron opted not to test the theory. “Maybe,” he said. “For what it’s worth, though, I know the feeling.”

Her lips curved, the hint of a smile warming as she studied his face with an expression akin to wonder, like he'd said something profound. “You do,” she murmured, voice almost lost under the rain. “Don't you?”

Theron opened his mouth to say - something, but the words didn't come. Reflected in her eyes he caught a glimpse of a silent understanding, a sense of being not just seen but _known_ . Recognized. _Your shortcomings are safe with me,_ it said. _I won’t tell anyone_.

Oh, he thought.

Lightning blazed blue-white and purple, sending a crackle of feedback through his implants; the explosion of thunder came only a heartbeat after. Theron hadn’t been aware of moving, but somehow the two of them stood face to face, unconsciously oriented toward one another and close enough to touch. 

Alarms buzzed along his nerve endings: _Danger! Danger! Abort!_

Theron ignored them, distracted by a droplet of rain tracing a slow, glimmering track along the side of Maia's face. Curiosity was absolutely going to be the death of him, because this could not possibly end anywhere good and there were a million reasons he should be taking a step back, but none of that seemed as important just now as the memory of the way she’d kissed him in those last stolen moments before they’d pulled out of Rishi. He could practically still feel her mouth on his, soft and unexpected and careful of his split lip - the sigh that she’d breathed out as they parted feathering warm against his bruised skin.

If he kissed her right now, would she taste like lightning? Would her lips part against his, until the clean, sharp sweetness of the ozone-laced air after a storm raced over his tongue? If he buried his hands in the wet silk of her hair and bent his head to hers, suggested they steal away somewhere really private together to burn off their restless energy--

\--most likely she’d remember who and what she was, and that would be an immediate end to that. But Theron couldn’t help wondering. 

Couldn’t resist the impulse to reach out and brush the back of his finger over the curve of her cheek, catching the raindrop that hung suspended like a tear. Her chilled skin warmed to his touch, and Maia stood very still, the trace of a blush tinting her cheekbones. She didn’t speak. He couldn’t be entirely sure she even breathed - or maybe he was the one holding his breath again. Maybe they both were, in case the wrong move, the wrong word, the wrong sound would shatter the illusion and bring reality crashing back in.

Any second, he thought, uncurling his hand to let his fingertips graze down along the line of her jaw. Any second now, she’d pull back. She’d turn away to avoid his eyes as she made some flustered apology, trying to pull composure back around herself like a robe. 

He skimmed his thumb across her chin, over the ridge of the little diagonal scar that he still hadn’t gotten the story of. Any second now _one_ of them was going to have a sudden rush of sanity to the brain and it was almost certainly going to be Maia, because after all she was a Jedi and Jedi didn’t _do_ attachments, and any second now she was going to remember that.

Maia’s head tipped back, tilting her face up toward him. Her lips parted as she drew in a quiet breath. 

_Any second now_...

“Master Jedi.” The brisk voice sent them jerking apart like they’d touched the same live wire. 

Sergeant Rusk stood in the downpour outside the tent, with a waterproof poncho draped over his armor and rain dripping steadily from his craggy face. “You’re needed at the command center,” he told Maia, stoically deadpan.

“--Ah,” said Maia, blushing hard enough to be visible from across the camp. “Of course.” She took a step in Rusk’s direction, realized she was barefoot, and hastily turned back to where she’d left her boots while Theron tried to decide who he wanted to shoot more, the Chagrian or himself. “I’m sorry. Give me just a moment.”

Under other circumstances, Theron probably would’ve enjoyed watching the truly priceless series of faces she made as she went through the unpleasant process of putting her damp socks back on so that she could shove her feet back into her boots. As it was, he occupied himself with feigning nonchalance and casually positioning himself just so at the opening of the tent, ensuring that Rusk couldn’t come under the shelter of the durasilk without physically pushing past him. By the time Maia had her boots on and was hurrying back across the tent to join the sergeant, he’d shrugged out of his jacket and had it in his hands. 

“Here,” he said, holding it out to her.

Maia looked at the jacket, then down at herself, before lifting her eyes back to his. “I’m already soaked, though.”

Huffing, Theron dropped the red leatheris unceremoniously over her head. “Just get going.”

She laughed and went, head ducked under the makeshift shield of his jacket as she darted out into the storm. Rusk nodded curtly and tromped after her. In moments the pair of them had receded into the haze of rainfall, splashing through the muck off towards the temp shelter that served as the Coalition’s command center.

 _Well_ , Theron thought. _Shit_.

He blew out a breath and shook himself a little in an effort to settle his jangling nerves, not that it helped much. Turning away, he moved to collect the datapad he’d set down, tapped out a quick command string.

By the time he’d satisfied himself that the tracer he’d dropped into his jacket pocket was reading properly, and that its directional signal could be routed to his ocular implant if he needed to, he had some of his equilibrium back. Another command sequence terminated the active homing program and set the tracer back into passive mode. A minor precaution. Just in case.

There was, he thought, no sense in being excessive.


End file.
